


voyeur

by gotham_ruaidh



Series: Gotham Writes for Imagine Claire & Jamie [84]
Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 10:39:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13233954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gotham_ruaidh/pseuds/gotham_ruaidh
Summary: Lord John Grey catches Jamie and Claire during a private moment during the Governor's Ball in 03x12...





	voyeur

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted at [Imagine Claire & Jamie](https://imagineclaireandjamie.tumblr.com/post/168470141118/jc-at-a-very-flirty-stage-of-their-relationship) on tumblr

“…And the soil acidity here is just capital for growing sugarcane, did you know that? I’ve made an extensive study of it myself, in fact I’ve considered writing a monograph on the subject. The only problem with this proposal is the complete and utter lack of high culture on this island – present company excluded, of course – and I understand the nearest full-scale printing press is in Cuba, and given our, well, *tumultuous* history with that island, I daresay it would be quite difficult to convince a printer there to take on my writings…”

“Indeed.” Lord John Grey, Governor of Jamaica, etc., sipped from his third – fourth? – glass of brandy, preposterously bored, wondering just how much longer the portly, sun-reddened gentleman could keep talking without pausing for breath.

He so disliked these types of social engagements – grand parties where the women (in dresses three seasons out of style) flitted about like overfed peacocks, their men trailing behind, sweating under their damp wigs.

Hal had convinced him that this was a promotion of sorts – and if nothing else, a chance to turn over a new leaf. Him, and Isobel – and Willie, of course.

Not for the first time tonight he found himself longing for his wife – her quiet wit and insightful observations of those present, her silent strength at his side, her intelligent analysis of the women and men and their motivations for attending – and their designs on the new governor.

There was affection, yes, and true companionship between them. He loved her, and she loved him in the same way. And he loved how she cared so deeply for Willie.

But the love he felt for her – a love that had grown over time, and occasionally bloomed into something physical – was a whisper compared to the surge that had coursed through his body tonight, nearly knocking him flat.

Jamie.

The forbidden word in his heart, in his mind – in his dreams.

Jamie was here.

With her. Claire – the woman he had burned for, since he had lost her during the Rising.

She was beautiful. Graceful. Refined.

And devastatingly polite.

She knew about Willie – what did she know about him? How much had Jamie shared?

That glass face of hers hid nothing.

Feeling suddenly strangled by his stock, he drained his glass and bowed.

“Excuse me – I just remembered that I had promised to speak with that lady over there. Beg your pardon.”

He handed his glass to the blustery gentleman – whose mouth gaped like a fish – and quickly darted out of the main room.

The governor’s mansion was still a maze of unfamiliar rooms, but he knew the quickest way to the outdoor garden. Turn left, then down the long corridor – windows cranked open to let in the humid breeze – then a sharp right to the small patio off the kitchen –

A woman’s laugh.

John’s blood turned to ice – but his feet somehow carried him around the corner, silent on the carpet.

A flash of yellow and blue against the wall.

Jamie Fraser, pinning his wife between the portraits of two previous governors, kissing her desperately.

John watched – silent, helpless, fascinated – as Claire Fraser’s long, graceful fingers pushed the ridiculous powdered wig from her husband’s head, threading her fingers through his hair.

A simple motion John had dreamed of countless times.

Then Jamie tore his mouth from Claire’s, gasping against her neck, sucking loudly against the skin of her jaw, one arm snaking beneath her dress.

And Claire’s head turned – saw John standing there, mere yards away, sweating in the half-dark.

She pulled Jamie harder against her. Panting like a wanton. Eyes locked on John.

Jamie’s lips skimmed down the skin of her neck and the top of her breasts, her chest heaving.

“More, Jamie,” she demanded. Voice hoarse with desire. “More.”

Her eyes flashed.

Jamie growled.

John’s heart skipped.

Jamie’s lips trailed up Claire’s chest and neck and chin. His mouth fused with hers.

She kept her eyes open – watching John.

Challenging. Claiming.

*Mine.*

Her hand fumbled at the front of Jamie’s breeches.

John awoke as if from a trance. Turned on his heel. Fled. Haunted by their twin laughs of joy and glee and want. Pushed his way through a random door – sheets draped over the furniture of what must have been an extra guest room. Tore off his wig and stock. Hands shaking with desire and shame. Jealousy blooming – ridiculous and hot and deep. Wanting so badly for the night to be over.


End file.
